


Equal Footing

by JQ37



Category: She Loves Me - Bock/Harnick/Masteroff
Genre: F/M, Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-08
Updated: 2016-08-08
Packaged: 2018-08-07 08:34:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,150
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7708195
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JQ37/pseuds/JQ37
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Summary: Georg notices something different about Amalia on the walk home from a date (OR #sharingtime with Amalia Balash).</p>
            </blockquote>





	Equal Footing

They make it nearly all the way from the restaurant to Amalia’s apartment building in the frigid January air before Georg realizes what’s been bothering him all evening.

“You’re shorter!” he exclaims, a puff of condensed air escaping his lips.

“I assure you that I’m not,” replies Amalia, somewhat obtusely because she knows that he’s capable of far more eloquence than he’s currently displaying. If he wants a real answer he can ask a real question.

“No, not literally. You’re just–” He gestures with the hand not holding hers to demonstrate the greater than usual disparity in height between them before trailing his eyes down the length of her body, landing on her feet. “Oh! Your shoes!”

“Yes Georg,” she says, fondly exasperated. “I’m not wearing heels.”

His face scrunches up in something resembling confusion and she smiles. She loves how expressive he is. She loved it when she spent a good portion of her days getting a rise out of him and she loves it now that they’ve gotten all cozy and domestic. As close to cozy and domestic as they can stand at least. There’s an undercurrent of bite to their relationship that’s been there so long that there’s no getting rid of it but now it’s playful and harmless.

“Why aren’t you wearing heels?” he asks.

“Well, first of all, they’re not terribly comfortable. Or terribly safe what with all the ice.”

Which is true but not the full truth. When she doesn’t explain further, Georg prompts, “First of all implies that there’s a second of all.”

“Gold star Mr. Nowack. Yes, there is a second of all but I’m not sure I want to tell you.”

Georg tugs on her hand to stop her from walking forward and looks at her with exaggerated shock. “Keeping secrets? After we promised we wouldn’t? Ms. Balash, I’m surprised at you.” She looks very unamused and tugs him along because it really is cold out but he doesn’t drop the issue.

“Come on Amalia.” His mock shock has melted into a teasing grin. “I know you want to tell me. You wouldn’t have answered the way that you did if you didn’t want me to ask.”

“You going to add that to your cards?” she quips. “Georg Nowack: Clerk/Psychologist?”

“You know, I just might.”

She _hmmphs_ and turns her head dramatically because he’s not wrong but she wants to drag the game out just a bit longer. And evidently, Georg is willing to play because he sing-songs, “ _You’ll tell me eventually_. What do I have to do? Wait for another burst of cold medicine induced honesty?”

“If we’re out here in this weather for much longer, you might get a crack at that,” she says semi-seriously.

“I could write you a letter,” he suggests. “You know, you’re a lot more candid on paper.”

“Sorry,” she says, swinging their clasped hands between them. “Hands are a little occupied at the moment.”

“Hmm. Well there’s always the nuclear option,” he says and she has to break composure to laugh at that.

“Georg, it’s freezing! You can’t bribe me with ice-cream when it’s about to snow!”

“Please. You’d eat ice cream in the middle of a blizzard.”

He’s not wrong.

Finally, he raises his unoccupied hand up in defeat. “I’m out of guesses. Your will is iron. Tell me what you want. I’ll do anything.”

She tilts her head like she’s thinking. As if they didn’t both know where this was going from the word go. “Hmm. How about you kiss m–” she starts but his lips are already on hers, briefly making her warm and weak-kneed enough that she’s extremely happy she’s not wearing heels to further compromise her balance–not that Georg would allow her to fall but still.

She knows she must look slightly dazed when they part because Georg looks just a little too pleased with himself when he asks again. “Why aren’t you wearing heels?”

“Well if you must know–”

“Oh I must.”

Amalia is annoyed at the hint of resistance in her throat as she starts to answer. Converting their verbal sparring to a more relationship friendly form had been easy. But casually dropping her defenses is not as easy of a task. Which is silly because it’s been months since she’s dispensed with the use of any defenses with him. At least on paper. There’s really no reason to treat him any differently in person. And he was right. She does want him to know.

So she swallows the resistance and pushes through.

“You’re very tall,” she says, doing her best to maintain eye contact and not turn bashful. “And it is _extremely_ annoying to argue with someone while constantly having to look _up_ to them. So _maybe_ I wore taller heels than were strictly necessary for work for mitigation purposes. And _maybe_ I don’t feel like I have to do that anymore. So maybe I decided not to wear them tonight at all for… symbolic reasons. And maybe I hoped you would notice and ask so I could tell you without feeling awkward.” And that plan has utterly failed because she’s looking at her shoes now and her voice is down to a mumble. “That would have all sounded better on paper.”

“No.” Georg tips her head up so she’s facing him and God bless his virtual inability to conceal his emotions. His face is soft with adoration, all trace of joking put aside. “It sounded _perfect_. Do you know what I was most scared of between the cafe and Christmas? I was terrified that I would tell you and you would think I was playing a cruel joke. That you’d never talk to me again and I’d lose my…my dearest friend.” He kisses her again, this time closing the entire height difference himself so she doesn’t have to stand on her tiptoes at all.

“Your trust means the world to me, Amalia. Truly.”

“Georg?”

“Yes Amalia?”

And he looks so earnest and the moment is so perfect that she almost hates to have to say “I love you but we’re here and if I stand out here another minute I might freeze to death.” But she squeezes his hand to know that his message has been heard and very much appreciated.

Georg squeezes back before releasing her hand. “You can’t blame me for trying to maximize the amount of time I get to spend with you. You know, outside of work.”

“I can if I get frostbite,” she says. Not that the idea of Georg as her nursemaid doesn’t have some appeal. “You know, it would save a lot of hassle if we lived in the same apartment.”

“Are you trying to imply something _Ms_. Balash” he asks, not so subtle emphasis on the Ms.

She shrugs lightly. “Imply. Suggest. _Propose_. Synonyms are fun, aren’t they?”

Georg smiles. “I’ve always thought so.”

**Author's Note:**

> Aaaand that's everything crossposted from tumblr. I thought it would be good to put all of it where people could easily find it if that's what they were looking for. 
> 
> Dedicated to my continued amazement at how tall Zac Levi is and my belief that Amalia is going to continue being awkward about romance for the foreseeable future because that doesn't just get kissed out of you folks. Even if the kisser is (essentially) Zac Levi.


End file.
